The other day, organizing my kid´s things, I found a book. And my heart skipped a beat. I took it gently, and sat on the floor to read it. It was "Are you my Mother?" by P. D. Eastman. My mom used to read it almost every night before bed, made special voices and every night I listened to her very carefully worried if the little bird would find his mother. On weekends, my grandfather read me "Pascual de la Sierra" by Hernán del Solar, the book had around 100 pages and I sat beside him closely until he got to the end.